A Christmas Story
by iunee
Summary: A sad tale with a glimmer of hope at the end.  Christmas Eve finds Harry in a pub, alone, looking back on the not-so-merry Christmases of his past and thinking that this one will fit right in, until he gets a rather interesting visitor ... Oneshot


**A/N: **Rated T for ill-mannered reindeer.

* * *

It was late. The pub had long emptied, now only Harry and the bartender were still around. A bartender that would have liked nothing more than lock the door - behind Harry, of course - and go home. He probably even had a family waiting for him. A girlfriend, at least. And judging by the intervals in which the man would glance at the clock, he was getting rather impatient to get to her. But for once, Harry didn't care. It was his right to have his drinks in this pub, and for once, he would insist on his rights. "We are open as long as you need us - even on Christmas Eve". If they declared it so proudly, then they should be able to live with it, too. He took another drink from his glass.

_Christmas Eve_, he thought. _Worst day of the year. Behind Halloween, perhaps_. He grimaced. _Yes, definitely behind Halloween._

_But not far._ He sighed. He didn't know when he had the last time a _merry_ Christmas. It felt like he never had one:

The first Christmas he remembered was with his relatives. The radio in the bar played Christmas carols; they had never listened to carols at the Dursley's. Vernon had thought of them as ... well, he didn't like them. Harry snorted. It was probably the only thing Dursleyish about the Christmas at Privet Drive, the absence of carols. Everything else had to be just like the others. If the others were buying their Christmas tree at December 22nd, then the Dursleys would, too. If the neighbours had blue decorations this year, then so did the Dursleys. It had nothing to do with tradition. The spirit of Christmas everybody liked to talk about - the Dursleys, too - just wasn't there. Even the freshly cut pine branches hadn't been able to cover the lingering smell of lemon from Petunia's cleaning agents. It all had felt stiff and forced, not the loving congregation of the family Harry had witnessed with the Weasleys, for example.

No, Christmas with the Dursleys hadn't been what Harry would call a merry one. And it hadn't just been that Harry had never been included into the festivities. No, the whole affair just hadn't felt _right_. All in all, he was more than happy to never think of it.

Hogwarts had been better, he mused. Getting presents for the first time ever had been awesome. So had been giving them. But as the time had passed, Harry had felt that something wasn't right there, either. Getting the same present from Ron for the third time, seeing the looks of the others when they opened his obviously pricey presents, putting a lot of thought into a single present and then not finding the expected expression on the recipient's face ... It was still disappointing, to say the least. It had happened a lot with Hermione, usually followed by a "Harry, that wouldn't have been necessary."

Of course it hadn't. That was the point of presents, wasn't it? They shouldn't be necessary. They should be given to delight the other. And if you didn't find something suitable, you shouldn't just go into the next best shop and pick up anything. But it was hard to find something fitting all the time, year after year. He understood when people simply bought something that caught their eyes, he had done so quite a lot during school, but one year he had simply dropped the book he mindlessly had picked for Hermione and left the shop, thinking how senseless it was to buy a random present. It shouldn't be a duty to have a present for everybody.

The others hadn't seen it this way. Their disappointed faces stood clearly in his mind as if it had been yesterday. Of course, they had nodded when he had told them his reasoning, but he doubted they had understood.

Maybe he just had too high expectations on Christmas. Maybe he just had the false opinion on presents. Maybe they _were_ given because it was what you do. But he didn't believe in that. Perhaps he simply wasn't made for the concept of presents.

But even though the Christmases he had spent in Hogwarts hadn't been "real" Christmases - for him, at least - , he still had feared that they would have been his last for a long time. Of course, he had been wrong. Hermione had gotten them together without fault every year. Even after she and Ron had married, Harry had been invited every year to spend Christmas with them.

He had enjoyed it. He put great thought into the presents he gave them and tried to ignore their sub-par reactions every year. To them it had just been another present, like the ones they gave each other or got from other friends. It hadn't mattered that sometimes the others' still had the price tag on them or had been exactly the same as the years before.

However, getting the same presents that he got as a teenager now as an adult, had always put him off a bit. There are only so much Bertie Bott's Beans one can eat in his life time, and Harry had reached his share with 23. Nevertheless, Ron had presented him with a package every other Christmas. "For the sake of tradition", he had always said. Harry had grimaced and accepted the gift. It had taken him some effort, but eventually, he had been able to give them away. He had felt bad in the beginning, giving away gifts, but eventually, he had come over it.

_Perhaps I'm not so picky about presents anymore_, Harry thought and fiddled at his glass.

It had all gone downhill when the kids had arrived. He had felt like he was intruding in their family Christmas, no matter what they said. He regularly had left early and it had felt like fleeing. And he had noticed the relief in their faces every time he left.  
There had also been the fact that the children had seemingly not liked him. He had never been at ease with them. They had cried when he had held them. Ron has told him with no small amount of smugness in his voice that they finally had found something he was better at than Harry.

"Not that it was that difficult", Harry muttered. Everybody had said that he was bad with children. Everybody safe his wife. "You are too afraid", she had laughed. "Who would have thought it possible? The great Harry Potter afraid of babies!"

Of course, she had been right about him being afraid. They were so tiny, so fragile. He was afraid that they would slip from his arms and fall down. There bones looked so frail, as if they would break if he grabbed them to tightly. He was afraid that his attention would slip to something else for a moment, just a moment, and then something terrible would happen. There were so many things to botch up and he was deadly afraid to be responsible for any harm that came to this new life. But nobody ever had seemed to understand that, even his wife hadn't taken him entirely serious when he mentioned it.

His wife ... how he missed her. He usually tried to avoid thinking of her, as it lead to a devil's circle of what-ifs and cursing himself. He took a deep drink from his glass.

There he had been, 25 and no "merry Christmas" to account for. And then, he had met _her_. His wife. His love ...

He actually had fallen in love with her at Christmas. He had fled from Ron and Hermione's flat again, and he really hadn't wanted to return to his cold and empty flat yet, so he had taken a nightly stroll through London. He had been surprised at how many people apparently had the same idea as him. And then, he had spotted her. She had been standing in front of a closed ware house, looking lost. He probably would have simply passed her by if she hadn't turned around.

He didn't know who had been more surprised to see the other there.

"Harry!", she had finally exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Err. Just walking." Even in his sightly intoxicated state, he could recall every single word. "You?" And how dumb he had sounded.

"Just... Actually", she had smiled, "I was trying to make a gift for someone. But..." He still remembered how cute it had looked how she had bitten her lip then. "... it's closed!"

"Well, yeah. It's a bit late to buy presents."

"But I didn't know what to give as a present. And I don't just buy whatever I come across."

If someone had asked if he could name a specific point where he fell in love, he would have taken this. She had the same opinion on presents as him! Of course he had done everything to help her. After a quick discussion about that how and what of the present, he had apparated her to Grimmauld Place. After some searching, they had found something suitable to work with. What had followed was one of the funniest nights Harry ever had. He didn't remember exactly what the gift was, only that involved a lot of paint and some weird spells he had never heard of but had come from her lips without hesitation.

Finally, an hour from midnight, they had been finished. Both exhausted and full of paint they had dropped onto the couch in the worn down living room. After she had regained her breath, she had apparated away to deliver the present. "Just in time", she had joked after a look to the clock.

The minutes had ticked away, and the smile had faded from Harry's face. Dejectedly, he had started to put away the cans of paint and the leftover material. He had been about to go to his cold and empty flat, when she had returned.

"I almost forgot", she had said. "Merry Christmas." Then she had given him a quick hug. Before he had realized what had happened, she had already pulled back.

"Thank you", he remembered replying. "Merry Christmas to you, too. You are lucky, I was about to go home."

She had cocked her head. "That doesn't sound enthusiastic."

"Who would want to go to a cold and empty flat on Christmas?", he had replied. "I for one not."

"Me neither."

"So", they had both said at the same time and laughed.

"I brought some biscuits."

"We can make tea in the kitchen."

Harry had tears in the eyes as he remembered that particular Christmas. They had stayed up late, eating cookies and drinking tea. Eventually, they had fallen asleep on the couch in the living room.

They met regularly over the next months, started dating, and eventually, he had managed to ask her to marry him. "Of course", she had replied. "Who else would I marry?"

It had been perfect. Each Christmas with her had turned out just as merry as their first, if not merrier. She accompanied him on his travels as a delegate from the ministry to foreign countries. They had travelled all over the world together and - in a single word - had been happy.

Then she had become pregnant. They had a huge fight over the girl's name. She wanted to name her after his mother, and he wanted to name her anything but Lily.

In the end, it had been a boy and they had named him after his grandfather and her deceased brother.

However, you couldn't travel with a baby. Well, probably you could, but all the good-meaning _experienced_ moms had cried out in horror after they had announced that they were going to do their old routine again and be abroad for some months (Harry had taken some time off during the "critical" phase). After a near endless talk with his mother in law, Hermione and several others, his wife had folded and Harry had to go on his travels alone again. And suddenly, they had been boring. He had loved his work, but he had become so accustomed to her company that he had found himself constantly missing her.

Hell, he did now, too.

The papers, of course had loved it.

_Potter amuses himself in Paris, while wife and child wait at home._

_Potter spotted with African hotties. Wife not available for comment._

_Potter seen in Vegas with foreign woman. Who is this mysterious beauty?_

It had become too much for her. While they had been on the road, it had all been bearable. But now she had been confined in her home, because she couldn't take a single step without being pestered by journalists. Plus the mail that somehow had gotten through the screening ... He hated his fame. More than anything. It cost him so much of his life, and in the end, it had cost him his wife, his happiness.

It had been December, and he just returned from a meeting in Germany. There had been only a few hours until his portkey to Brazil left. He had been joyful to spend at least these few hours with his family. He hadn't expected that he would find his wife drenched in tears, their son on her arm, and a bag in the other.

"I can't take it anymore, Harry", she had sobbed. "You are always gone, more than before. And I ... I have the feeling you are avoiding us."

He had been speechless. How could she think something like that?

"I'm leaving", she had said. "To my mother", she had added. It had sounded hopeful. Like she had hoped that he would come. He still didn't know.

"Good bye, Harry", she had whispered, and with a pop, she had vanished.

He didn't know how long he had stood there, staring at empty air into which his family had vanished. And then, he had done the worst thing imaginable. He had taken the portkey to Brazil. If only he had followed her - perhaps not immediately, but the next day, or the one after that. Who knew, perhaps they would still be happy together. And he wouldn't be spending Christmas Eve alone in a bar.

When he had returned two weeks later, the house had been empty. He had checked her closet - everything gone. Just as he had been, he had apparated to his parents-in-law. His mother-in-law, however, who had been so nice to him in the beginning, had seemed to outright hate him then.

"My daughter isn't at home", had come her answer every time. Or she had outright chased him away. To Harry it had seemed as if his wife didn't want to see him. And he had given up. Sunken in depression, he had had the worst Christmas in his whole life.

He had quit his job shortly afterwards. Every nice place he had seen just remembered him of her, and it had hurt, getting remembered. It still did. He hadn't wanted to see beautiful places anymore. So he choose to work in the ugly ones. Doing the dirty work of an International Hitwizard, he had cleaned out several of Europe's "dirty alleys". It had not taken a long time before he had been contacted by the International Auror Corps. They had offered him a job in their ranks. He had accepted.

He had been able to work alone for a while, which suited him just fine. But eventually, they had assigned him a partner. Joseph had been a young, dedicated Auror. He should have stayed in Tunisia instead of joining the Internationals. He had died on their fifth mission. Of course, nobody had outright blamed Harry, but he had been the older, more experienced member in their team. They had whispered about him leading Joseph into that situation where there had been no escape.

_Bullshit._ He had come out nicely, hadn't he?

There had been no punishment from his superiors. Instead, they had promoted him. To a part desk job, part training position. It wasn't as bad as it sounded. The desk job was tedious at times, but the teaching made easily up for it. He still had that job.

He sighed. _What would _she _say about it? She'd probably laugh. Him, a desk job?_ He wouldn't have thought that possible a few months ago, either.

Staring down at his empty hands, he wondered how long it would take for his remorse to manage to fight through his alcohol induced listlessness. He was keeping that poor man behind the counter up and away from his loved ones ...

You could still see the imprint of his ring. He rubbed at it. It had taken him over a year to take it off. He still carried it around with him everywhere, though. After all, they were still married. Furthermore, it was a good excuse to get rid of some of the more persistent girls he met abroad.

"I am married", he would say. "And I am happy", he would lie.

He wondered what she had done with hers. Perhaps she still wore it. At least at a cord around her neck. He would like that.

Then, the door opened and another patron entered. Feeling secretly relieved that he wasn't the only one that kept the barman up, he watched the newcomer. It wasn't one of the regulars. Harry visited the pub regularly and he would remember a man with such a big, white beard. A bit like the Headmaster, but unlike Dumbledore's, this beard was bushy and well kept.

"A whiskey, please", ordered the man.

Harry didn't really want to listen into the conversation, but old habits died hard. He didn't know how many hours he had spent in pubs like these trying to get some information from the locals back when he had been active in the field.

"Actually, I want to close", muttered the barman, "For at least half an hour, to be precise."

"Then why don't you?", the man asked in a grandfatherly way.

Silently, the bartender pointed at Harry.

"I see." The man didn't seem surprised. "Why don't you just ask him to leave, then?"

"Throw him out?", asked the barman shocked. "Him?" He shook his head violently. "No, thanks. It's not that I would be afraid of him, but ... you should have seen him when some idiot made some racist comments about Cathy ... He just lifted him in the air. Just like that, as if he didn't weigh a thing. And then ... he just stared at him. The guy had blanched and started shaking. Then he" - he jerked his thumb in Harry's direction - "had simply let him drop to the floor and turned his back on him. The other couldn't vanish fast enough."

Harry had to smile. A well placed application of Leglimency and the biggest bullies turn into frightened big babies.

"Hmm", said the old man and stroked his beard. "Let's make a deal. You pour me my drink,and I get him to leave for you?"

Harry suppressed a snort. _How was he going to do that? Stupid-talk him?_

"If you manage to do that, it's on the house", the bartender answered and reached for a glass.

"Thank you", the old man said and took the glass. Harry watched him from the corner of his eyes. He didn't say a thing as the man pulled up a chair next to him. Silently, he watched as the man took a sip from his glass.

"Hello, Harry." The words jolted him. The man wasn't a wizard, he was sure of that. _Then How did he know ...?_ "How are you?", the man asked calmly and set down his glass.

"Do I know you?", asked Harry, perplexed.

"No ... well, yes - in a way. But not personally, I'm afraid."

Harry raised his eyebrows. _What?_ Carefully, he drew his wand beneath the table. _Such talk never meant anything good._ He leaned closer to the man. "Who are you? And how do you know my name?", he hissed.

The other smiled. "I'm Father Christmas", he answered. "Of course I know your name."

Harry blinked. Twice. "What?"

"I'm Father Christmas, Harry."

Harry sat back. "You're ..."

"... Father Christmas, yes."

Harry shook his head. It must be the alcohol. Perhaps it was really time to go. Yes, it was probably the best. He pretended locking at the clock. "I'm sorry", he said. "I have to go. I have a wife and a son at home."

The man nodded solemnly. "I know. I'm sorry you haven't seen them this long."

Now Harry couldn't leave fast enough. This man was creeping him out more and more. He was already outside the pub when he remembered that he had yet to pay. Turning around, he entered the pub again. The bartender was already putting up the last chairs.

"Excuse me", called Harry. The barmen's face fell as he turned around. "I forgot to pay", Harry continued. "Keep the change!", he held up a note and placed it on the bar. The man's face lit up again. It was a healthy tip. He was about to leave, when he froze. Apart from him and the bartender, the pub was empty.

"Where ...?", he began. "Where did he go?"

"The old man? He left after you."

Harry was speechless. He hadn't seen anybody. Deciding he was beginning to imagine things, he left. Shaking his head, he stepped out into the fresh air.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he started walking. He had no desire to return home already. He was about to turn around a corner, when he spotted the old man. He was standing over the road, watching him. Harry frowned. This was getting stranger and stranger. He quickly crossed the street. The other seemed to be waiting for him. The old man smiled at him.

"Stop following me!", he flew into the other's face. "What do you want?"

"Everyone to have a merry Christmas", came the calm reply.

"Pah", Harry spat. "There is no such thing as a merry Christmas. Not for me."

"Hmm. When was the last time you were flying?", the old man asked abruptly.

"What?"

"Has been quite the time, yes?"

Dumbfounded, Harry just nodded.

"Come on! I have to show you something", said the other and started pulling Harry at the arm.

"Hey!", shouted Harry. "Let go of ..." He paused in mid step. Slowly, his arm, raised to pry away the other's hands away, dropped.

_No way_, he thought. _No freaking way._ He blinked, even wiped his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The picture remained the same. In the alley between the trash cans and other junk stood a red sleigh.

"Beautiful, isn't it?", asked the man, misunderstanding Harry's shock.

"No w..."

"Come on!", called the man and got onto the sleigh. "Let's have a ride."

Harry noticed the small Christmas trees painted on the wooden boards. His eyes travelled to the man sitting on the coach box, beaming down at him. He did indeed look a bit like Father Christmas up there.

Harry looked around. "What, no reindeer?", he asked as he found the alley empty of any other ... alien things.

"What did you think, dunderhead? That we are visible just like that? That way _he_ would have lost his cover long ago", called a voice from the nothing.

_Yep. That makes it official_, thought Harry as the man - Father Christmas - answered something to the voice. _I have fallen asleep and I am dreaming. Yes, that must be it. There is no other explanation._

"What now? You coming?"

_What does it matter?_, thought Harry and climbed up. _I'm dreaming anyway._

"Ho-ho!", shouted Father Christmas the moment Harry dropped into the seat next to him. The sleigh jolted and slowly began gaining speed. Harry didn't even notice when they took flight.

It was awesome. Harry felt how his worries slowly disappeared as he immersed himself in the flight. It was so different from flying on a broom, but it had the same soothing effect.

After a while, he turned to his ... to his chauffeur, he guessed. "So, you are really Father Christmas?"

It was a reindeer that answered. "Of course he is, you nincompoop! Do you think we are pulling some impostor around?"

"You did not believe me", stated Father Christmas.

"You are a myth!", exclaimed Harry. "You are a story told to little children!"

Father Christmas laughed. "In every myth there is a truth, Harry."

"Is there? Then why did you never come to me? Haven't I been a good enough boy, or what?"

"Have you an idea how many kids there are on the world? Even with magic I can visit only so much."

"And you are telling me that all this years, I didn't make it on the list?", Harry asked incredulously.

Father Christmas winced and mumbled something into his beard.

"What?", asked Harry. "I didn't hear you."

"He said that some dimwit crossed your name off, even if you hadn't been visited. And heaven's now, you could have used some brain as a gift!"

"Are they always like this?", Harry asked.

"Yes", muttered Christmas. "They can be quite the handful."

A big lurch pressed Harry's stomach into his throat. It took him a few moments to register that they were now flying upside down.

"We heard that!", came a choir of invisible voices.

"I'm sorry!", called Christmas. "I am sorry. Now could you please turn around again?"

A lurch later the world was right again.

"Does this answer your question?"

It did. "So, don't you have to gifts to give out? Or are all those kids down here _not on the list_ this year? Or on the list and crossed off even you weren't there?"

"Hey, I'm trying to make it up to you right now!"

"By flying me around? Why do you have the time to do so, anyway?"

"Time can be bent, Harry."

"But not so that you could visit all children?"

"No."

"I don't believe you."

"It's the truth. There are limits to everything. And now, if you would excuse me... I need to _cross_ someone of my list."

Father Christmas seemed to flicker slightly. "So, where were we?"

"That was it?", asked Harry incredulously.

"He slowed the time down for himself, you fool! Do you listen to anything one tells you?"

"Would you please stop insulting our guest?"

"We could", answered a reindeer - Harry didn't know whether it was always the same or not. "But it's too much fun."

"I'm sorry", apologized Christmas.

Harry shrugged. "Actually, I think you silently encourage them to do that to change the topic."

"Me? Encouraging them? How should that work?"

"Magic", answered Harry.

"Touché", conceded Christmas.

"So it's true!", called Harry.

"I didn't say that!"

Harry just stared at him and turned away to watch the houses flashing by beneath them. Somehow, the neighbourhood seemed familiar, as if he had flown over it many times.

"Wait, isn't this where Ron and Hermione live?"

"That's true. Their kids are on the list this year. Here we are. See you in a bit!" Christmas vanished.

_Ron and Hermione_, Harry pondered. He had stopped visiting them around Christmas after his wife left. He wondered what they thought of him. In a way he felt like he had abandoned everyone. Maybe he should visit them tomorrow. But how would they greet him? He truly hadn't been the best friend in the last time.

With a small displacement of air, Father Christmas came back.

"That took long", Harry muttered

"He slowed the time for you, too, this time, you ..."

Christmas quickly cleared his throat loudly. It didn't matter, Harry could think what kind of insult the reindeer had used. He could just take his pick from the ones Snape had used.

"So quiet, Harry?", asked Christmas after a while.

"I'm just thinking", he answered.

"Maybe you should stop brooding and start listening to your heart."

"Hmmmm."

They flew in silence for a long time, Harry lost in thoughts, Father Christmas occasionally popping down to deliver some presents.

"Do you want to see them?", he shook Harry out of his thoughts.

"See them?", Harry echoed. "Whom?"

"Your wife. Your son."

Harry's throat constricted. Suddenly his heart was beating hard in his chest. Shakingly, he managed to nod.

"Good. I hoped you would. Ho! Ho!" The Sleigh leaned into a turn. After an insane burst of speed, Christmas turned to Harry. "Ready?"

Harry gave him a unsure smile. "R-ready." His voice cracked.

"Good. Let's go then."

Harry looked down. "How are getting down there?"

"We jump, of course!"

"Jump?"

"Yes! It's fun!" The old man vanished from the sleigh with a whoop of joy.

Harry carefully bend over the edge and looked down. There he was, on the roof, waving at Harry. Slowly, Harry stood on the skid. _This is one of my more stupid ideas_, he thought. _I'm going to hit the roof and die._

_Or wake up._

"What? Are you a coward, too, you dunce?"

Harry gave a half-hearted glare into the general direction where he assumed the reindeer to be, and pushed himself of.

The landing was surprisingly soft. "I told you! It's great fun!"

"You have definitely the weirdest sense of humour", muttered Harry.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing", Harry replied quickly. "So, how do we get in?"

"The chimney, of course!", exclaimed Father Christmas.

"They chimney. Of course. How else?"

"What's up with you?"

"I'll be entering my wife's home through the chimney ... Doesn't that sound a bit weird to you?"

Christmas shrugged. "I don't think that letting oneself drop from the roof in a cold fireplace is more weird than stepping into the flames, shouting your destination and vanishing. And believe me, it's great ..."

"Great fun, I know", Harry sighed. "Lead the way."

"Whoohoo!", cheered Christmas and jumped into the chimney. Shaking his head, Harry let himself drop in in a more sedate way.

The "arrival" didn't differ from flooing. His legs rammed into the hard floor of the fireplace, and he rolled out coughing and spitting out grime.

"Shhh", made Christmas. "You'll wake them up!"

"And your _Whohoo!_ doesn't?"

Christmas looked sheepishly.

"And besides, would it be so bad?"

"Let me guess ... You appear in the flat of your wife, whom you didn't even talk to for years, if I may remember you, in the middle of the night, covered in grime ... so ... yes, it would be bad."

"Why did you even come down here?", Harry asked annoyed.

"Presents!", Christmas exclaimed and pulled two gifts out of nowhere.

"I'm beginning to think that maybe I should be glad that you never came to visit me", Harry said sourly. "You're not exactly the kind of Father Christmas I expected."

"I'm sorry. I just thought you needed some cheering up. Go on, they are through there!" He pointed to a door to the left. "I know it's your decision, but I don't think you should wake them."

"But ..."

Christmas rolled his eyes. "You have feet, you have magic. Just visit them tomorrow. And bring some flowers ... honestly."

Harry nodded. At the door, he turned around again. "Thank you", he said.

Christmas waved it away. "Merry Christmas, Harry. I'll pick you up later."

Harry took a deep breath and silently opened the door. A teenager's bedroom. His breath hitched in his throat as he spotted the unruly mop of black hair on the pillow. The rest of the boy was buried under thick covers. His eyes surveyed the room. He had missed so much of his son's life ... There was so much catching up to do ... Gently, he straightened some linens and tip-topped to the other door in the room.

He had to suppress a giggle as he realized that he was actually entering his wife's bedroom again. Carefully, he opened the door and crept in. The moonlight filtered through the window and painted pale patterns on the bedsheets. Harry paid them no heed. His gaze was fixated on his wife's face, sleeping peacefully on the white pillow.

He tore his gaze away as he felt his eyes water. It took all of his resolve not to go over and hug her. Swallowing a few times, he looked around in the room. He smiled. Only she would furnish her bedroom this way.

The top of the dresser was lined with photographs. Curious, he stepped closer. His son. Each year one picture. He had to stifle a laugh some times. She had always had the talent to capture the funniest moments on film. That these were magical pictures didn't make the matter easier. He frowned as he had reached the last one. Wasn't there one missing? He quickly counted in his head. Yes, there was one year missing. He looked around.

There. On her bed table. Silencing his footsteps (something he should have done long ago), he walked over. Her even breathing in his ears, he picked up the photograph to inspect it in the moonlight. He froze. It wasn't a picture of his son.

It was a picture of him. He had his arm around her waist and they were waving in the camera. He didn't care that there were tears running down his face. His gaze were riveted to the picture in his shaking hands. He stood there for an eternity, watching the photo and listening to her breathing. Eventually, he slid down the wall next to her bed. Letting his head rest against the wall, he watched her sleeping, the picture still in the hand.

He couldn't believe that she would still love him. But the picture was proof. Why else would she keep it, if not?

And he couldn't believe how utterly stupid he had been. "I will make it up to you", he whispered. "I promise."

Harry didn't know how long he sat there, watching his wife sleep.

"We have to go", startled him a soft voice out of his reverie. "They'll wake up soon."

It was Christmas. Harry looked up and nodded. He knew what he had to do. He would come back tomorrow. In the evening perhaps, when his son was asleep. It was going to be hard enough without him there. And he wouldn't take flowers with him. She would liked them, sure, but he had a far better idea ...

All in all, this might turn out as the best Christmas he had in a really long time.


End file.
